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It's the clanking of the silverware, louder than the voices belonging to a dozen people, that makes me uneasy and causes me to shift against the chair every minute or so.
As we are sitting at a table, in a perfectly circular restaurant I couldn't pronounce the name of even if I tried my hardest to, it takes everything in me not to let my jaw drop down to the very floor beneath my own feet.
Multiple floors surround me, an overhead mezzanine housing magnificent tables and chairs robed in shades of gold and crimson red. The honeyed walls are decorated with intricate golden filigree which reaches into the sloping, sky-blue ceiling.
Just at the very centre of the domed top hangs the most extravagant chandelier, dripping in sparkling crystals, which of course, causes me to think of the many outcomes, many ways to die if the expensive thing fell down, its size probably killing a single person instantly.
Imagine a newspaper headline, killed by a chandelier.
What a way to die.
After I finally move my almost blinded eyes from the golden light emitted by the dozens of candles mounted amidst the sea of gems, I cringe back at the menu, having the most difficult time to make a decision of what to order for dinner.
Because everything sounded absolutely disgusting: from Beluga caviar topped with golden leaves, Scottish lobster coated with four abalones and four quail eggs to butter-infused Japanese Wagyu beef, when all I wanted were some regular fries dipped in ketchup.
I lean forward, swallowing hard as I hold the menu close to my chest before letting a small whisper to the man sitting in front of me. ''Where are we?''
And the man snickers, his elbows resting against the table, a palm on top of his other hand. ''Auvers.'' The thick, french accent rolls off his tongue ever so smoothly. ''One of the most prestige french restaurants in town. Thought I should let you taste a bit of my life.''
''If your life tastes like caviar and old cheese, I'll pass.''
It soon hits me that I might've said that out loud as his jaw clenches, the daunting look in his eyes causing me to lean back in the chair, eyes staring back at the expensive meal offers.
''I'm convinced'', he starts but I don't dare to look at him, ''that if you got even the smallest glimpse of the things I'm surrounded with, you wouldn't be able to turn back to your old way of living.''
And I keep hiding behind the menu, lips pursed in a firm line as if I'm waiting for the anxiety to go away.
But it never does.
If anything, things only get worse when the waiter now stands next to me, with a paper block and a shiny pen encircled by his fingers – he is waiting for me, waiting to write down my order but my lips have been sealed with my mind flying up to Mars.
''Miss'', the waiter politely brings me back to Earth, leaning in as if to check if I'm still alive and kicking. ''May I take your order?''
I look up at my date for confirmation.
His hands were placed down, his eyes staring back at me and then I realize that I was taking longer than I should've – he already made his order.
Panicking, I close the menu and hand it to the waiter, without knowing a single word I've read on it. ''I'll just have the same.''
The waiter then nods, taking the menu with both hands before bowing and disappearing through the cluster of dining tables dressed in red silk.
And now, I wait for the surprise dinner on my plate.
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FanfictionThen there was a long pause, a minute of silence he so desperately needed just to wrap his thoughts around all of this. ''Ah, I'm sorry about your boyfriend. I couldn't help myself. The thought of somebody else having you, somebody else owning such...
